


Act Like it Never Happened

by mousaerato



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Accidental Relationship, Dirty Talk, Drunk Dialing, F/M, Oedipal Issues, Older Woman/Younger Man, Phone Sex, rarepair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-02 10:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8663869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousaerato/pseuds/mousaerato
Summary: No one would believe you anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tonight Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/326823) by [thatonelesbianyouknow (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thatonelesbianyouknow). 



_Buzz._

     A low hum, muffled by a single thin sheet, pierced the silence of the room. The vibrations coaxed the young man in the bed from slumber as he dragged his hand lazily from beneath the deep cobalt cover to find the source of the sound. It was times like this that he wondered why he even slept with his phone in his bed.

_Buzz._

     Sienna-colored eyes, heavy with sleep, forced their way open to look at the all-too-bright screen, flinching at the light. On the cell phone’s screen was a sickeningly green icon signifying an incoming call. The only numbers on the screen were the ones reading “2:33 AM;” this was a caller the boy knew—

_Buzz._

     “Call back after sunrise, dammit,” he grumbled with a dry mouth and sleepy lips.  He wanted nothing to do with any of those so-called ‘friends’ at this time of night; even if they weren’t very bright, he thought, they should know better than to call this late. The young man looked again at the name to make a note of which _idiot_ decided to interrupt his sleep: Niijima _...Sae?_

_Buzz._

     The phone’s screen darkened, vibrations finally creasing as the “missed call” notification replaced it. Curiosity overcame the detective’s former umbrage then, wondering what would warrant such a late dial. Sae was always a no-nonsense kind of woman; if she was calling, then certainly—

_Buzz._

     The phone began to vibrate, room illuminated again by the faint light of the screen: another call from Sae. The boy shifted in bed, sitting up against his slate-colored pillow as his left index finger pressed the accept button.

     “H-Hello?” he began, confused but polite. She had never called this late – in fact, she had never called him _at all_. Exchanging numbers was simply an act of professionalism.

     “Akechi?” The voice pronounced his name haltingly.

     “…Yes?” he responded cautiously. Something wasn’t right about this: the time, the _call itself_ , but it was the voice that caused Goro the most hesitation.  It was devoid of its familiar sternness, now uncertain and soft – fragile, even. He shifted in bed again, muscles slowly rousing from their former entropy in anticipation – of what, he wasn’t sure.

     “ _Hey,”_ she responded, practically gushing. Goro _knew_ something was wrong now: her voice was relaxed, vowels stretched too long.  This wasn’t like her. A deep sigh and _giggle_ resonated through the receiver to Goro’s ear then; the sheer strangeness of it all stirred fear in him.

     “Are you oka-”

     The woman stopped him mid-sentence: “You sound so _serious_ ,” she teased, laughing again. “Are you always like this?”

     The question caught him off-guard. “N-No! I – do you even know how _late_ it is?”

     “At leas’ pas’ two,” she responded. “I can read clocks, y’know.”

     The slurred words sealed it for him; Goro had a feeling what may have been happening, but it seemed so _ridiculous_ he didn’t want to consider it seriously. The boy’s voice softened to a whisper, as if trying to keep non-existent prying ears from finding out his coworker's behavior: “Are…you _drunk_?”

      “ _Yes,”_ she hissed with a smile in her voice, “is that _really_ so shocking, O Second Advent of the Detective Prince?” She cackled at her own sardonic jab, snorting at the end.

     This was _not_ what Goro was expecting at all – he didn’t even know this side of her existed until now. The admission prompted more questions as the brown-haired youth brought his phone closer to his face. “Where are you?” he asked, voice tense with something resembling worry.

     The woman did not respond immediately; slow breaths filled the seconds of the call instead. Just as the boy was going to repeat himself, a soft, throaty sigh coupled with the sound of ruffled sheets and springs came through the receiver. Goro felt his face become warm as a smoky, womanly voice finally responded, “In my bed.”

     A small, weak noise escaped the young man then, stunned. Despite everything he had seen and all he had done, the detective was left with no idea how to respond. He found himself visualizing what she must look like on her end: her long hair, disheveled and pressed unevenly against her sheets, eyes half-open with inebriation, hands—

     “Mm,” murmured the woman on the other end of the call, tone heavy with intention. Goro was young, certainly, but not _that_ naïve; his eyes opened wide without his volition as he realized just precisely what was happening.

     He stuttered as he tried to respond, left hand shivering as he clutched the phone with his right: “I-I don’t think I should be here for—”

     “ _Please stay,”_ she begged in a whisper, and the sound of her voice stopped the boy dead in his tracks. “Don’t hang up.”

      Unconsciously, Goro found his toes curling beneath his own bed sheets. A jolt of emotion welled up in his chest, threatening to break a heart he wasn’t sure was there anymore. Despite everything he’d done,  something about a woman – not a girl, a woman – wanting him, needing him, made him feel a sense of urgency and belonging. He wouldn’t leave her – he couldn’t.

     “I’m here,” he responded, attempting to steady his own voice. “What…do you want?”

     “Talk to me. I like your voice,” she purred, punctuating her sentence with another soft sigh.

     “Okay,” he managed to respond, feeling a warm knot in his stomach; no one had ever complimented him that way – at least not directly. Not like this.  What could he say to her like this? “I, um–”

     “Ask me something.”

     Goro closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on something other than how surreal the situation was. His free hand skimmed at the only piece of clothing he had on – gray boxers – as he tried to find words that didn’t sound so lacking. “What are you thinking about?”

     The boy chastised himself mentally for how _foolish_ he sounded, but the clumsy question seemed to get a rise out of the woman as she coyly responded, “You.” Another small giggle came from her lips then.

     “Oh my god,” Goro whispered under his breath as he tried to cover the receiver. He gulped back his fear and continued speaking to her, “What…about me?”

     “You’re so cute…mm.”

     “Tell me.”

     “You’re always so – uptight,” she sighed, “I wonder…”

     Her voice trailed off, leaving the air silent. The sudden quiet made the young detective realize just how his heart had been pounding, how warm he felt all over, and how his hand had moved unwittingly between his legs. Desperate to ignore it, he broke the silence and urged her on. “I’ll answer anything you want.”

     She made a sound then, a low moan of approval, and even Goro found himself choking back a sigh.

     “I wonder what your hands would feel like on me, no gloves,” the woman replied. “Would you touch me?”

     “Yes,” he shot back quickly, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

     “ _Yes,”_ she mimicked, voice dripping with anticipation as she shifted again in her bed.

     “What else?” He couldn’t believe he was _encouraging_ her. A pang of guilt hit him then, thinking of the woman in bed, clearly not in her right mind, telling him things she would never speak of sober — if at all. Between the throbbing between his legs and the memory of her pleading, though, he pushed onward, thinking of making her happy. “What are you thinking of now?”

      “Hnnh…you, on top of me, kissing my neck, and then… _mm,_ sucking bruises into my tits.”

     Goro felt his whole body shiver as he finally slipped out of his boxers to grab his cock, shock at her bluntness turning into white-hot arousal. “Oh god, Sae-sa-”

     “Just Sae,” she corrected. They were past the point of formality now.

     “ _Fuck_ , Sae,” he huffed, incredulous.

     “Have you…ever –”

     “No,” he whispered. “Never.”

     “No one before?” 

     “No one,” he confessed, surprised at his own honesty. 

     “I want to show you.”

     He bit his lip, trying in vain to hold back a whine. He pumped at himself eagerly, toes curling and cracking again. “Oh god. What are you doing right now?”

     A gasp was her first response before the words: “Rubbing my clit…fuck, I want you in me.”

     He shuddered again with lust, feeling his cock throb in his hand. “Sae, I-”

     “I’d be gentle with you, I promise.” Her voice was vulnerable and sincere; Goro felt himself get goosebumps at the thought. “It’s been so long...”

     Goro imagined her more clearly now: shoes haphazardly thrown across the room, pants and underwear gone, revealing smooth, cream-white legs; blouse unbuttoned and open, revealing a front-opening black bra, also undone; one hand grasping the phone and the other softly working at her lips, eyes closed and skin glistening with a faint layer of sweat. He knew she was an attractive woman, certainly, but this kind of intimacy, this situation – it was something else. He imagined himself there with her, leaning above her, watching her intently as he stroked his erection, trying desperately to ignore the odor of alcohol in the air.

     “Mmm,” he vocalized, licking his lips as he tightened his own grip.

     “Goro?” An upward peel colored her voice now, still small and weak. The pang– an old memory – tugged at the boy’s gut again. For a fleeting moment, a coherent thought passed through his mind: _I shouldn't be doing this._ Though he couldn't place why, the fact that he realized it only seemed to make him more eager.

     “I’m here, I’m still here – hnn,” he assured.

     “Oh god,” she sighed. “Oh my god, I—“

     “Do it,” he replied, confidence surprising even himself. He was too invested; they had come too far. “I…wanna hear you.”

     “Tell me you want me,” she said tensely, desperately. “Tell me you’d—“

     “I’d…fuck you,” Goro responded shakily. “I’d get on top of you and fuck you. I’d do whatever you wanted.”

     “Oh _god,_ fuck…I’m gonna come,” she squeaked. “Don’t leave.”

     “I won’t,” he replied as he allowed himself a small moan. “I want to hear you come.”

     Sae muttered, chanted his name like a litany of praise as she worked herself to a climax. Sighs and choked hums punctuated the word until she sucked in a breath and held it in silence. Goro listened, transfixed, unable to do anything else as he wished he could be there to watch her in a moment of bliss that he helped create.

     Seconds of cold silence followed; the only thing he could do was hear her exhausted breathing, wishing he could be there with her. The words for what he wanted were unclear, even to him: to comfort her? Hold her? Fuck her? All he knew for certain were two confusing facts: that he needed to get off and he wanted a woman who, for once, would keep him.

     Moments passed before Sae finally broke the quiet. “Goro?”

     “Yes?”  

     “Don’t go.” The words were barely audible, and the helplessness in them felt like a knife to the heart for the boy. He carded his now-free hand through his hair, allowing himself to reflect on the moment that, somehow, roused dormant, dead emotions in him: _What the hell did I just do?_

     “You need to sleep,” he started, somberly realizing there was no way to end this cleanly or gracefully. “I - We…have to be up in the morning.”

     “Will you talk to me tomorrow?”

     “Of course,” he lied.

     “Good,” she sighed hazily. “It…it’s lonely.”

     He knew. “Get some sleep.”

     “Goodnight.”

     Goro disconnected the call first, guilt coming back in full effect. It was an unusual sensation for him; he could kill men and manipulate his peers without mercy, but a woman — who was practically a young mother — in need? That…confused him, and he couldn’t quite understand why. All he knew was that he was going to take a warm shower in a few minutes, jerk off, and hopefully fall back asleep without what just transpired keeping him awake. After all, he knew she probably, _hopefully,_  wouldn’t remember any of this once they faced each other the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot, but readers have asked for more after this chapter. For those of you who just want your straight-up one-shot smut: this is your ending. For those who want some plot: keep reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked for more
> 
> I GIVE YOU MORE

_Buzz!_

                Jingling wind chimes clanged acrimoniously with the low hum of the phone. What was intended by its creators to be a pleasant tune had become a cacophonous ritual; every working morning, the delicate sounds broke the cover of unconsciousness and signified the start of dirty, thankless work.

                _Buzz!_

                 She could feel the faintest bit of warmth on her face; the sun had already begun rising. Between the blessed gaps in sound from the alarm, the woman could hear light footsteps in the distance. Was _she_ coming to the door? No – she was getting ready for school, early as always. _Ever the effortless perfectionist_ , thought the woman with a mix of pride and bitterness.

                _Buzz!_

                Those chimes seemed louder today. Sae’s hand tensely searched for the phone, feeling around the empty spaces in bed around her sides to no avail. As her eyes began to open at last, the woman shifted her search upward, eventually finding the phone directly next to her ear.

                _Buzz!_

 _I should change this alarm_ , she mused bitterly as she pressed “dismiss” on the screen with an anxious index finger. Bleary eyes looked at the time on the screen and reflexively winced: 6:16 AM. Sleep was indeed a luxury in her line of work, but this Friday was going to be a particular challenge. However long she had actually managed to sleep was certainly not enough – what time had she gotten home again, exactly?

                The corners of her mouth were unnaturally dry; opening her mouth would cause a little pain at this point. From the cramps in her legs and general lethargy, she could tell she was definitely dehydrated, and for some reason, her right arm felt as if something was grating against it. A groan from exertion escaped her lips unbidden as she straightened up in bed and took in her surroundings while smoothing her peculiarly-hued dark hair: shoes in the room, haphazardly flung near the door; dark blazer spread out on the floor; matching pants in a crumpled heap on the carpet near the bed. The scene was certainly unusual, but it caused no concern in itself for Sae – she knew she had a tendency to be a _little careless_ when getting home later than usual. The desire for sleep could be quite overwhelming after a few drinks with coworkers.

                What did catch her eye, however, was what was conspicuously atop the wrinkled pile of pants: silvery lace underpants that Sae clearly remembered wearing. Only at that point did she realize that she had fallen asleep with her similarly silver bra still on – unhooked and undone, but still draped over one arm and chafing it, as if someone hadn’t had enough time or coordination to remove it entirely.

                She really did drink too much last night, didn’t she?

                Sae felt a throbbing sensation bloom between her eyes. It wasn’t the worst she had experienced in her life – she knew a couple glasses of water would fix it – but it certainly didn’t help as she hazily removed the last piece of clothing on her frame while she dragged herself to her closet to grab a lavender-gray robe. She needed a shower – anything with water, really – to rid herself of last night and ready her for the day ahead.

                After preparing for a shower, she walked from her room to the bathroom, dark eyes fixed intently on her phone: _no texts sent or received,_ she noted with gratitude. She had no voicemail messages – that was a good sign, for work’s sake – and no incoming calls. As she entered the bathroom, she felt her stomach sink as she looked at her list of “outgoing calls:” two attempted calls to _Akechi Goro,_ of all people – one of which was _answered_.

                Though she wanted to ignore it, Sae pressed on the screen to look at the answered call’s information. Slowly, she took in the details: the call started around 2:34 AM, first and foremost. _That answers the question of how much I slept,_ she mused. She recalled she had left the bar around 1:45 or so, but even that was unclear. Uncharacteristically nervous eyes looked at the total call time: _21 minutes and 38 seconds._

                Any sense of tiredness was gone from her at that point, sore limbs and heavy head now filled with a quick shot of adrenaline. Tense hands placed the phone at the sink and the robe on a hanger as she jumped into the shower, water a little too warm to be truly comfortable.

                The scent of soap and shampoo was invigorating. Sae found herself able to subdue the panic with precision as she asked herself the hard questions, as a prosecutor would: _Did we actually talk? It’s possible he answered by accident and therefore didn’t say anything. It was late, though – he would have been asleep as well, right? Maybe. If he was sleeping at the time, then it means the call woke him up. We probably would have talked to each other in that situation._

                Sae turned the dial in the shower for colder water and rinsed her body, watching as the suds and used water swirled methodically down the drain. She redoubled her efforts to recall what happened: _What on earth could we have talked about for that long?_ The gap in her memory bothered her, bit at her, nagged at her. She was well aware there was a chance it was absolutely nothing of consequence, but the possibility that it was something _important_ lingered. She retraced her steps, narrating Thursday night’s events to herself again and again:

                _I left work with my associates. We went to a bar downtown. We – well, they – talked about sports and girls; I listened and answered their ridiculous dating questions. One asked about Makoto and I did my best to fend off the invasion of privacy. I had three drinks, then a fourth one after feeling so stressed out from being the only woman in a group of men. The bar started to close, so I called a taxi and got…home?_

                Everything from getting in the vehicle to waking up was a blur. This…was less than ideal.

                After finishing her shower, drying off, and getting dressed, Sae made her way to the dining room where her sister was already packing her own lunch. The older sibling found her way to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottled water and quickly opening it; she felt vulnerable and under deep scrutiny from her little sister. She decided for a moment to let some of her defense down – looking at her, Sae knew Makoto had handled herself just _fine_ without her presence, though it was a disappointment.

                “Good morning, Makoto,” she started.

                “Good morning,” she started as she turned from her work to look at the woman now sitting at the table. “Did you sleep well?”

                Sae actually laughed. “Not nearly enough. You?”

                “I got my homework and studying finished early.”

                “That’s…good to hear,” she responded softly. “Keep it up.”

                “May I ask you a question?” Makoto took her now-completed lunchbox with her to the table.

                Sae knew: “If it’s about last night—”

                “Where _were_ you?” Makoto’s voice was tinged with disdain and concern, a strange combination to hear so early in the morning.

                “I was invited out to dinner with some coworkers and it carried on for too long. I’m…sorry if I worried you.”

                Makoto sighed, surprised; she wasn’t expecting such an earnest answer. The vulnerability inspired some compassion in her. “I…it’s alright.”

                “ _Really,”_ Sae responded flatly.

                “I mean, you’re still—”

                The older sister cut her off. “Don’t finish that sentence.” She wanted no pity from the girl she was supposed to be a role model for. “Let’s change the subject.”

                “Oh…oh okay,” she mumbled weakly. She lamented the shift in Sae’s tone; _back to the stable authority instead of my sister,_ she thought. “What should we have for breakfast?”

                “Toast,” Sae replied with a snap.

                “Just _toast_?”

                “Maybe two pieces instead of one?”

                Makoto knew why her sister wanted more bread. She tried to be sympathetic and smiled. “Okay. There’s eggs here, too – I think we should use them now, before they go bad.”

                “Sounds good,” Sae replied as she watched her sister get up and start working on a meal for two. She was incredibly proud of her – her precision, her resilience, her kindness. As the young girl placed the plates in front of them, Sae managed a warm “Thank you” that caught Makoto off guard before returning to her standard cadence: clipped, to the point, and decisive. She saw Makoto off to school, noting a melancholy in her eyes when her tone changed back to normal, parental Sae. It pained her twofold: first, for her teenaged sibling deprived of her sister, and secondly, for herself. Between work and her lot in life at home, Sae was very closed off emotionally, _isolated_ – lonesome, even. Deep down, she wished for someone with whom she could be candid – someone who wouldn’t make such demands of her.

                Sae looked at her phone once more: it was time to leave for work. There was no time, metaphorically or literally, to lick her wounds so selfishly. It was time to plan out today’s tasks – and what to do should she and her younger detective colleague have to talk during work.

                _What did I say to you? What can I say to you now?_

 


	3. Chapter 3

                4:52 PM.

                The plans for the day had gone off without a hitch: between meetings, tedious readings and re-readings, and a more exaggerated than usual case of what some would call _Resting Bitch Face,_ Sae had managed both to be more productive than usual and avoid all non-work conversation. The monochrome suits blended into a haze of fog-like gray slush, leaving the woman only able to look at what was immediately before her: work. Grisly descriptions of bodies drained of life, transcripts of interrogations…for the long-haired woman, these were comforting in their normalcy. Routine. Practically _predictable_ , she noted.

                Sae locked up her office and carefully picked up her bag, draping it over one arm as walked to the department’s break room. While a good meal and a glass of water helped immensely, the woman knew that it never hurt to be liberal with how much water she drank, particularly after a night of drinking a _little_ too much. She opened the pitch-black door fluidly, knowing exactly how many steps she would need to get to the refrigerator, grab a bottle of water, and sit down alone with her thoughts.

                Her eyes widened ever so slightly when she realized she would not be alone with her thoughts in the room. A familiar form was already sitting at the table, clean ivory shirt in striking contrast to the drab color of the linoleum tiles, off-white walls, and black table with chairs. A clear plastic bottle was in his left hand.

                “Oh! Did I scare you?” A young, cheerful voice asked, looking up to meet her dark brown gaze.

                “It’s almost 5 PM. What are you _doing_ here?” Sae’s voice was steady, but her eyes lacked focus; she knew it.

                The boy chuckled. “I, uh…came in late, actually.” Something about his voice was _off,_ Sae noted. No, not the voice necessarily, but the words. The confidence was noticeably drained from them – curious. And suspicious.

                _Why is he in school?_ Sae asked herself with some annoyance. Still, she pulled herself away from the conversation by turning to walk to the refrigerator, hoping now to grab some water and _leave._ She couldn’t talk to him like this.

                “If you’re looking for the water,” he started tenuously, as if aware he was interrupting her thoughts, “I…actually have the last one here. I’m sorry.”

                Sae touched her right temple in frustration, hand against her head. _Dammit._

“Um…would you like it? I can go without,” the boy asked, offering the bottle from his left hand to her.

                With some annoyance, Sae reluctantly removed her hand from her face and extended it to accept his offer.  The bottle was still cold; at least that was some good news.

                “Thank you,” she replied, voice softening in an attempt to be kind to the young man. He clearly sounded concerned. She twisted off the lid and took a sip, noticing that he kept his eyes fixed on her with a scrutinizing gaze. His eyes were not the ones she was familiar with: the sharp, narrowed glare was replaced with relaxed eyes, more _curious_ and _concerned_ than determined. It was not a look of someone trying to solve a problem, but rather the look of someone with questions of their own.

                “You’re welcome,” he replied tensely with a dry mouth and clipped diction. A pause lingered between them as Sae took a longer drink, giving the boy a chance to look at her as she turned into his line of vision. He took in the crisp lines of her dark shirt, following the edge to her dark pants. For the first time, he noticed how well the clothes clung to her form; it was a singular act of will on the boy’s part to push back the sudden image of her without them on – one that had played for him uncontrollably more than once in the last few hours. Even Sae’s closed eyes and relaxed face as she drank reminded him of how she must have looked while they talked last night.

                “So,” Goro started, voice soft, trying not to rouse what headache he was certain she had. “How are you?”

                The woman continued drinking as she thought of a response. Part of her wished to push him away with a bitter, jaded retort – something to push him back into his work instead of small talk. His words lacked any true sarcasm or malice, however; his tone was light, soft, even _sincere._ Recognizing that caused a twinge in the woman’s chest, a small spark of warmth. Instead of walking out of the room, Sae decided to sit down next to him, finally putting the bottle down next to her to look at him.

                Goro was nervous; it was plain as day that he knew that, _somehow_ , he had crossed a line. Sae took a moment to examine him again: posture too straight and tense, eyes struggling to look at hers directly. And his hands – no gloves – seemed full of a nervous, uncertain energy as they traced the table. She noticed hints of bags under his eyes – had he slept at all?

                Sae closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. “I called you last night,” she started, opening her eyes to look at the boy directly. His mouth was opened slightly, as if trying to remember to breathe. “I’m sorry if I woke you. It was inappropriate of me to contact you.”

                Goro’s fingers curled back softly, reflexively shielding himself by withdrawing from her ever so slightly. A feeling resembling pity welled in him then; her voice seemed pained to his ears. Her eyes were focused, but uncertain; her line of vision struggled to stay straight, as if she wanted nothing more than to look at the floor than face the source of her embarrassment. He bit his lip anxiously as she continued.

                “It was unprofessional, and I set a bad example. It won’t happen agai-“

                Before she could finish her sentence, pale fingers touched at her wrist. The skin was soft, but the touch itself was tense, definite – and she couldn’t help but notice how _warm_ he was. The sudden change snapped Sae out of her somber tone, eyes focused on the young face before her.

                “Don’t feel bad, please,” he pleaded. “It’s fine.” Based on the woman’s words, Goro surmised that she did _not_ remember what happened. He assured her again, forgetting to move his hand from her wrist: “It was kind of nice, actually.”

                Sae’s lips flattened into a straight line as she tried to find a way to shut him out. She could feel her eyebrows lower and her eyes narrow instinctively, but the boy’s voice, the warmth of his hand, and the sheer earnestness she heard held her tongue back and kept her wrist where it was. Finally settling on curiosity, Sae asked: “ _Nice?_ ”

                “Y-yeah,” he answered, looking downward in embarrassment. “I…don’t really get phone calls that aren’t about work.” He knew he could keep a straight face while _lying_ , but for a reason he couldn’t place, he didn’t want to look at her while doing it right now, even if some of those words were technically true.

                The confession was striking to Sae. She knew he was quite dedicated to work, but with his throngs of fans and admirers, she assumed he must have friends, acquaintances, people who would want some of his time, even if it wasn’t face to face. She always attributed his lack of youthful indiscretion with his cell phone as a professional touch – now, however, she wondered if maybe it was because there was no one he really had to talk to. As Goro’s earthy-toned eyes finally managed to look at her directly, Sae recognized something she hadn’t seen in him before: that he wasn’t simply alone, but _lonely._

                “I don’t either,” she admitted in a whisper. Goro seemed incredulous; _she_ had no one who talked to her? His eyes widened for a moment, startled.

                “You know,” he said bemusedly, “this is the longest we’ve talked about something that wasn’t work. Besides yesterday, but…that wasn’t really talking.”

                Sae actually _laughed._ “I guess it is.” Goro smiled ever so slightly at the sound of it; it was nice to hear her a little more at ease. It was in that precise moment the two of them realized it: Goro was still touching Sae, and Sae had never stopped him. Both of them pulled their hands away as calmly and quickly as possible.

                “Oh – um, I’m sorry,” Goro started. “I didn’t mean—“

                “It’s my fault. I should have said something. I guess I’m still not feeling my best.”

                Sae rose from her seat and looked at the time – she needed to get home. She quickly excused herself, smoothing her hair out of habit, and said goodbye to the boy. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sae started.

                “It was nice…talking to you,” he responded, voice firm. He was uncertain of which occasion he referred to – this afternoon, the past evening, or both.

                The moment was a rare breath of fresh air for the woman – one she didn’t want to lose. As she walked out of the room, she quickly checked to see if anyone was around who could overhear. After she was certain they were the only two who could hear her, the professional allowed herself a small moment of weakness: “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

                The boy hummed in affirmation and watched her intently as she walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if the short chapters bother anyone. I'm an impatient writer - I get an image in my mind and I'm willing to do anything and everything to get to the point where I can make that image reality. Right now, the challenge is getting through the "slow burn" part of the story - I want to fast forward so badly, but I know that for this story, I can't. Doing this will be a test of endurance and patience for me. Posting scenes as I get them done helps me feel like the hard work is getting done, though.
> 
> Thank you for your comments and your support - I haven't written anything substantial in almost five years, and your words and responses mean the world to me as I get back into this!


	4. Chapter 4

                Goro exhaled deeply, slumping a little in his chair as tension he didn’t know he was holding back finally melted away. He had waited a few minutes – enough time for Sae to get back home – and was certain no one would see him. He knew the department like the back of his own hand, after all – it was necessary for his plan. Sae was an unknown quantity for today, and thankfully, she was gone.

                The brown-haired detective brought his hands to his cheeks, noting their warmth as he took another deep, calming breath. This was unusual for him – was he _blushing_ after that conversation? Maybe during it? No, he concluded – Sae’s discomfort was from her own feelings, not anything he was doing. After all…she didn’t move his hand. Why _had_ he reached for her?

                Goro looked at his left hand, turning it to make the palm face his gaze. He generally despised any form of casual contact, but something about having that woman before him – her immaculately-groomed hair, wise carmine eyes, husky but helpless voice – compelled him to act on a feeling he couldn’t entirely describe. Cogitating over it alone in the room didn’t help: he recalled the shaking in his hands that he was certain were from lack of sleep, leading again to the memory of what had kept him awake in the first place. He had kept his voice soft while talking to her for two reasons: an act of consideration to her almost-certain headache, yes, but also because he feared his voice would _crack_ around her. He needed to be steady for her sake and his own pride.

                His chest felt full of an uncertain heat as well, flooding to his throat and dripping slowly down to his stomach. It was uncomfortable, certainly – the novel and unknown always were to his plans – but in this case, it was not entirely unwelcome. In fact, the sensation was almost nice. He replayed their conversation in his head, trying to pinpoint the exact moment the warmth in him started to spread like wildfire. It wasn’t the laugh, or the small ~~lovely~~ smile she directed to him, ~~beautiful though they were~~. No, it was the last thing she said: “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

                He tried to recreate the phrase again in his mind: the soft, casual cadence, the intimacy with which he felt she spoke it, the agreement offered with the question, _the affirmation._ Sure enough, the flame tickled at his chest, causing a flutter and warmth all over again. He luxuriated in it for a moment, feeling his lips curve upward ever so slightly before it faded away. Once it was gone, he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to find it again.

                Yes, they would talk again tomorrow, but in the meantime, he had to work. When he returned to his office, he found himself invigorated – the pathways ahead of him in the pile of papers seemed remarkably clear.

                _Get through today so you can get to tomorrow,_ murmured something dark and hidden in him. The worry of her discovering the nature of their conversation in the wee hours of the morning was muffled, buried underneath of warmth, fire, and a void that needed to be filled.

               


	5. Chapter 5

                The next day was a haze for the prosecutor and the detective: the trance-inducing monotony of reading line upon line of black ink and the boring hum from stern male voices that eventually became indistinguishable from each other were infused with an urgency and electricity that turned hours into minutes. Although the work was tedious and familiar to them both, the morning refused to drag – on the contrary, time flowed with them seamlessly into the afternoon. Their tasks were all-consuming; indeed, their paths never crossed the first half of the day.

                Sae sat alone during her lunch break and looked in front of her at the white clock with black hands on the wall, the only adornment the dingy, tan walls had. The plastic encasing it was cloudy and scratched; it needed to be replaced desperately.  Still, the dark-haired woman was able to read the hands perfectly: 12:30 PM, she noted to herself as she watched the second hand move methodically past the matte-finish numerals.

                …3…4…5…6…7…8…9-

                In the corner of her eye, Sae noticed a figure walking quietly to what she knew was a coffee machine behind her. She heard the soft drag of shoe soles against the linoleum, the small clink of glass and ceramic moving, the muffled crinkling of what she assumed was a filter, and the low hum of boiling water. The day’s travail had been welcome in its own way – she loved those highly productive days where each moment was filled with purpose – but this quiet place was appreciated in its own way as well. She savored the sparse moments where, just for a while, she could empty a mind that was often filled to the brim with statistics, summaries, and skeletal beginnings of written arguments.

                The invigorating scent of coffee began to waft through the room, rousing Sae slowly from her dazed state. She had almost forgotten that she still had utensils and a half-finished lunch in front of her, only becoming aware of them again when her hand made contact with the plastic container. The meal was more substantive than usual, a begrudging acknowledgement to Makoto’s wisdom; her younger sister had chastised her for forgetting to sleep and eat. It hadn’t occurred to her that maybe she was pushing herself too hard until yesterday morning – the first time in quite a while she felt that she had truly faltered. All that could be done now is to keep moving forward – ever onward, to the next goal, knowing somewhere deep down that the goal line would always be moved further away.

                The sound of liquid poured into a cup now filled Sae’s ears, followed by the same patter of soles against the floor. A new sound broke then broke the quiet: a chair being pulled out in the space a few feet behind her. Turning to her right, Sae saw that it was Akechi Goro quietly adding cream to his coffee, gently stirring it with a spoon, napkin neatly placed next to it. Like her, he seemed to watch the gentle swirls and colors in the cup with relaxed eyes – _he must need the break too,_ she concluded. With that consideration in mind, the woman let him have a moment to empty his mind and decompress, opting to take a moment and look at him.

                Goro exhaled deeply, shoulders falling slowly as he released the tension from them. For the first time, Sae recognized a great paradox in him: though he was clearly young with his light frame that almost seemed out of place with his work clothes and soft-but-masculine features, his earthy eyes seemed older. They were somewhat weary, she pinpointed, but still bright. She knew, though, that this field would drain the warmth she discerned – the gentleness she had recently discovered – from them soon enough. Knowing that caused a twinge of _pity_ in her heart.

                Finally, the boy glanced up from his drink, looking Sae in the eyes. Keeping her word, she greeted him: “Hey. How are you?”

                Goro kept his hands on his drink, trying not to smile too much. “I’m okay. A little tired, but I’m okay.” He took a sip of his coffee, closing his eyes as he swallowed it back a little too hungrily. “And you?”

                “Same,” she said with a touch of warmth, noting his thin attempt to keep from smiling. Something about it stuck with her – the great genius, vulnerable and even _sweet_. “Did this morning go too fast for you too?”

                “Definitely,” he replied with some enthusiasm, “but hey, it makes the day go by quicker, and the faster we finish, the better off the city is.” He gulped back another swig of his drink quickly.

                Sae quirked an eyebrow; the way he drank was _off_. “Not that it’s any of my business, but…where is your lunch?”

                He hesitated, looking down into the nearly-empty cup to avoid her eyes. Something about the way she spoke – concerned, searching – made him feel inadequate, vulnerable. With that same downward glance, he quietly admitted his mistake: “I…forgot to make it.”

                “What do you mean ‘you forgot’?” Her voice was a little harsh, a sense of protectiveness bleeding through, though the irony of her saying so didn’t. She tempered her question with some reassurance. “That’s…pretty important.”

                “I didn’t have time. I figured I’d just…buy something to eat when I left.”

                Sae instinctively slid the plastic container in front of the boy. He looked up, a bit startled as he looked at the meat and vegetables in front of him.

                “It’s still warm,” Sae assured him. “Take it. There’s utensils behind you near the sink.”

                “Are you sure?” Goro questioned, not wanting to be a burden her. “I mean, isn’t this you—”

                “Just eat,” she chided.

                He was in no place to complain; while the drink had helped, his stomach was still growling. He hurriedly grabbed the last requisites from the sink and returned, delving into the dish a little too quickly.

                “This is really good,” he managed between bites. “Did you _make_ this?”

                “Yes?” Sae asked with a little chuckle. It was almost _cute_ to see him so enthused; the feeling that fact caused her, however, was confusing. She opted to ignore it, instead looking at the young man in front of her.

                “I’m sorry,” he started with a full mouth, “I’m just…surprised. This is great.”

                “Do you…not know how to cook?”

                Goro wiped his mouth and winced. “Um…not really,” he confessed. “Sandwiches…cereal… that doesn’t count, does it?”

                “No,” Sae replied flatly, eliciting another dejected wince from the detective. “You should really know how to do that. And stop skipping meals; it’s not good for you.”

                He felt her comment wound his pride. He shrunk into himself ever so slightly, feeling he had disappointed her. The thought that he had let her down left a bitter taste, but beneath that feeling was something else: someone _cared_ about him, and that feeling managed to make the bitterness bearable.

                “You’re right,” he relented. “I’ll make sure I pack lunch next time.”

                Sae looked up at the clock again – almost 1 PM. Though she tried to take the empty container from her younger colleague, the boy refused. “The least I can do is clean it for you,” he insisted. Sae nodded in acknowledgement and appreciation before picking up her things to get back to work.

                Goro managed a soft “thank you” as she walked away, uncertain if she heard it. Once she was gone, he knew he was going to work harder for the rest of the day – he needed that extra time for something new now.

*       *       *

                As the weekend came to close too quickly, Monday brought two surprises. For Makoto, it came as an already-made lunchbox with a handwritten note of good wishes from Sae sitting neatly in the refrigerator: _Have a good day_. _I’m proud of you._ The gesture moved the young girl deeply – their relationship had been strained, and she sometimes wondered in a dark place in her heart if Sae worked so much in an attempt to avoid her. With that thought blissfully abated, Makoto sent a text message to Sae at work: _Thank you so much for lunch. I hope you’re okay at work too._ While she had a feeling it wouldn’t be responded to, the student wanted nothing more than to keep the lines of communication open. Something had changed for her sister – in a good way.

                For Goro, it came as a lunchbox – an unusual gift– with a similarly handwritten note: _In case you forgot again._ Though anonymous gifts were not uncommon for him, this was one creation that he truly ~~wanted~~ appreciated – and it merely encouraged his idea for the next day.

*       *       *

                Goro arrived at work on Tuesday, stealthily avoiding his colleagues as he made a beeline for Sae’s work space as he held a tightly-wrapped plastic container in his left hand. With a gentle knock, he made his presence known, waiting for her to approach the door and speak with him.

                He handed it to her coyly, never stepping into the room. “Just wanted to return this from Saturday,” he said softly. Sae quirked an eyebrow, noting his voice seemed a little tense, but confident. Before she could say anything else, the young man cheerfully thanked her once more for her kindness a few days earlier. “I’ve gotta get back to work.” With that curt phrase, he closed the door and walked away.

                Sae noticed the food container was _heavy_ and _bulkier_ than she remembered _,_ even with it wrapped in blue cloth like a gift. Curiously, she untied the knot and removed the cloth, revealing a small silvery gift box with a folded note on top of the original container he had offered to clean. Separating them, Sae realized that the container was full of food: seared salmon, steamed vegetables, and fried rice. It smelled absolutely _delicious._ In the silvery box were two chocolate truffles – a treat and a luxury. Giving into temptation, she popped one into her mouth, savoring the sweet, velvety texture as she unfolded the paper to read the note.

                Her eyes widened in surprise: _In case you forgot, too. How's this?_


	6. Chapter 6

                Akechi Goro clenched and unclenched his left fist as he walked back to his workspace with long strides filled with an uncertain energy. Was it simply confidence that animated him? Elation? Fear? The brown-haired boy couldn’t identify the exact sentiment – only that he was warm once again. That addictive, novel flame he had discovered recently settled in his chest firmly, burning and banishing any other thoughts he had. Indeed, only one word came to mind as he finally returned to his desk: _Yes._

                It had taken some dedicated effort to do: a visit to a local restaurant that was all too happy to help him, first off. Normally he didn’t care about the taste of the dishes he ordered, but for this visit, he asked questions carefully and pointedly with a polite tone, charming smile and practiced laugh. Eventually, the blushing, flustered, tedious server got him an audience with the chef, whom he spoke to at length about cooking. He eventually took his recommendations, thanked everyone for their time, and went home to do more research. Hours of videos and websites followed; the trip to the store was relatively effortless thanks to the pre-work, however. The actual cooking was painstaking, full of double-checking measurements and surgically-precise work with a knife, but the end result was worthwhile – _perfect,_ he thought.

                He settled into his seat and removed his gloves, dipping the fingers of his right hand into a cup of ice water he had prepared, savoring the relief from the sting. The chocolates, he recalled…those had taken a little more effort. How did girls manage that sort of thing on Valentine’s Day every year?

                Still, he had succeeded. He saw the challenge – the opportunity – in Sae’s comments to him, and rose to the occasion in them. She deserved that much, he thought: deserved kindness, deserved reciprocation, deserved to be listened to. There was a satisfaction in being able to meet her expectations as an equal, and he hoped – no, knew – that it would be appreciated. She had told him she was gentle underneath those dark clothes she wore like armor, after all…

                Goro quickly removed his right hand from the glass of water and took a stiff, brisk gulp, as if trying to extinguish that fire that had trickled downward and pooled in his abdomen. The chill managed to distract his mind from following the thought of what she looked like underneath those layers of fabric. He didn’t need his working hours stained by those thoughts, too – especially now. He needed no confusion or distractions as he looked over the new information in front of him.

                It seemed the Phantom Thieves had pulled off yet another crime a few days ago on July 9th. Worse than that, they had managed to recruit a new member to their ranks…

*             *             *

                He was already sitting down for lunch when Niijima Sae entered the break room. A few days had passed since his surprise gift to her – had it not been for the handwritten note and the playful question at the end, she wouldn’t have believed he made it himself. She was, if she was being totally frank, _flattered_ by the gesture; it had been a long time since she had received any kind of gift from anyone, for any reason. Indeed, it wasn’t until the text message from Makoto and the letter from Goro that Sae was able to acknowledge consciously that she had missed being able to be kind and gentle – to give as well as receive. For the prosecutor, gentleness and warmth had been habitual sacrifices made unwillingly.

                Akechi Goro’s face was the first thing she saw. She couldn’t help but notice the contradiction in him: even though he had been full of boyish, blustery confidence as he gave her the gift a few days ago, today he seemed….hesitant. He nervously darted between looking at her face and looking back at his meal, and his mouth seemed taut with stress, as if he was trying to decide whether to smile or wince. Perhaps he felt he had crossed some kind of line – the last two weeks had been strange for both of them to navigate, she assumed. Sae looked over her shoulder into the hallway behind her, checking that no one was in earshot before she spoke.

                She sat down across from him, placing the container she held in her hand on the table. “You left so quickly that I didn’t get to thank you properly,” she started. “You made all that yourself?”

                “Y-yes,” he replied politely, managing to look her in the eyes. “I had to return the favor.”

                “You said you didn’t know how to cook –”

                “I thought it was a good idea to try after what you had said,” he responded meekly, attempting to mask the hours of effort it had truly taken. “Was it any good?”

                “It was _wonderful,_ ” she said with a smile. This kind of gentleness was still foreign to her, and for some reason, she couldn’t tell if she was giving him encouraging praise or complimenting him.

                “I’m glad,” he laughed. “The chocolates were really hard—”

                “Wait - you made _those_ too?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

                “Yes?” he responded with an upward inflection, a touch arrogant. Her genuine shock made him feel confident in answering her with a bit of wit. “Why?”

                “They were…very nice.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if trying to keep a horrible secret. “I do like chocolate.”

                “I’m glad,” he replied, lowering his voice to match hers before taking a sip of coffee before giving her a smile he didn’t intend. The low, smoky tone of her voice managed to coax it out of him.

                “So you’re a genius detective _and_ a good cook?” she teased.

                “Beginner’s luck, I swear,” he lied, dismissing her compliment in false humility. In reality, the compliment bit at something primal in him and made him smile with his eyes instead of his mouth. He couldn’t see it, but he could certainly _feel_ that something was different.

                Her voice became stern again as she looked away from his russet eyes, almost ashamed. Despite seeing him almost every day she worked, despite all their mandatory interactions, she had to admit he was a stranger. She confessed: “I don’t know you very well at all, do I?”   

                The guilt that bled into her voice hurt him to hear. That pang he felt in the wee hours of the morning – hearing a real woman in pain – came back, spurning him to act. “Well…I don’t know much about you either. It’s not one-sided.”

                His earnestness and sincerity made her feel safe in being gentle, playful even. After taking a moment to have some of her lunch, she finally spoke. “What do you want to know?”

                The question caught him off-guard. He closed his eyes and tried to think of an easy question. He bit his lip, eventually hissing through his teeth before managing what he thought was safe. “Favorite color?”

                She looked down at her nails and smirked. “Purple. Yours?”

                “Blue and red – but not together,” he explained.

                She couldn’t help but give a small laugh under her breath at the irony. “Okay. Got another one?”

                “Favorite food?”

                “Otoro.” Sae felt herself relax – it was nice to have questions that, for once, were easy.

                _Fancy,_ Goro thought to himself.  “Your turn.”

                “What’s one hobby you have?” She preemptively blocked him from the polite answer, adding, “You can’t say work.”

                “Hm… cycling, I guess.” He paused to take a bite of his food before responding in kind. He had to admit this was kind of fun. “You?”

                The question was surprisingly hard for her. She hesitated, skimming her brain for the last time she had actually had fun. Goro looked at her, scrutinizing her features, and realized he may have asked a hard question. He looked at her patiently, waiting in the silence. Finally, she admitted with a laugh: “I…really don’t know.”

                “ _Nothing_?” he said teasingly, but still with some compassion, eyes looking around the room to give her some reprieve. “Not one singl- oh…”

                “What?” she asked, suddenly aware of the room again.

                His eyes flitted upwards to the clock on the wall. “We need to get back to work.”

                “Time flies,” Sae mused as she looked down at her unfinished meal. “I guess this’ll just have to go in the fridge.” She couldn’t believe she had lost track of time, given how she always seemed to look at the movement of the hands of the clock every time she was in the room; this was the first time she wasn’t facing it, she realized. “I’ll give you an answer the next time we have lunch together.”

                “Promise?” Goro’s voice wasn’t teasing her anymore; it was earnest, almost _needy._

                “I promise,” Sae said assuredly as he picked up her things.

                The resolution and confidence in her voice made the boy feel that warmth again. He was scared, but something told him she would keep her word.

*             *             *

                Sure enough, Niijima Sae was a woman who said what she meant and meant what she said. The next day they worked together and ate lunch alone, she admitted to him that she had a penchant for card games – particularly poker.

                The boy sitting across from her actually giggled. “ _You?_ Gambling? No way.”

                “I haven’t told _anyone_ that,” she laughed. “I haven’t played in years.”

                “Your secret’s safe with me,” he smiled. “So…what’s your question? I feel bad now…”

                “Next time,” she replied with some remorse. “Back to work, remember?”

                “Right…”

                It became a kind of tradition for them: during lunch, they would ask each other simple questions back and forth, becoming more familiar with each other. Even though they were always superficial inquiries, the questions always seemed to stop if someone else was in the room, though neither of them knew why.  After two weeks, both of them agreed on two facts: first, that these games were a welcome change of pace, and second, that meal breaks suddenly felt too short.

                Sae asked him one last question before they returned to work, feeling she could ask something a little more personal. While she certainly knew more about him than she did before, she knew remarkably little about his family. “What is your living arrangement?”

                “Alone,” Goro admitted quietly, “in an apartment.” He looked up at her and saw something resembling pity in her dark eyes; it managed to make him feel both wanted and angry. Pushing back, he asked her, “You?”

                “Pretty much alone, too,” she admitted with some embarrassment. “Either I’m here, or in the apartment. Makoto’s made new friends lately, so she’s rarely home.”

                 “Oh…” his voice trailed off as he found himself deep in thought. Unwittingly, he spoke what was on his mind in a small whisper: “So we’re _both_ alone, then…”

                “You’re not alone,” she interrupted.

                Goro nearly jumped out of his skin. Did he actually say that aloud? “I—”

                “You still have my phone number, right?”

                “Um, yes…”

                “You can message me if you want,” she offered warmly.

                The offer took him aback. “It won’t bother you?”

                “You’re nice to talk to about things besides work,” she said. “Not a bother at all.”

                “Okay,” he nodded as he picked up his belongings to leave the small break room. “I’ll…talk to you later, then.”

                With a little more energy and enthusiasm than usual, Akechi Goro left the room. Sae lingered a little longer, thinking on how of all the places in her life, the dingy, drab room she inhabited had become some kind of respite. She knew that as soon as she stepped out of it, she would return to the stern-worded, cynical persona she adopted for her work, but for first time, it didn’t feel like an unbearable, inescapable burden. Opening up to her colleague – no, her friend – had been like breathing fresh air for the first time after living under feet of smog.

                For a reason she couldn’t explain, Niijima Sae grinned at the thought.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> memes

                That evening, Akechi Goro lay in bed holding his phone cautiously in both hands against his lap. His stomach churned with undesired, irrational bile and uncertainty while he eyed the bright screen in the low light of his room. The dark-haired boy caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass, eyebrows furrowing in frustration in response at the timid, anxious countenance he saw. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly _unprepared_ , and the realization made his fingers freeze along the plastic edges of the phone case as the light of the screen dimmed.

                Lying and concealment were part and parcel of his true work. At the police station, he wore a mask so expertly crafted that it had nearly grafted to his face; indeed, he was inscrutable. The subtle omissions obscured by honeyed words and narrow smiles were as easy as breathing for the so-called detective – the key, he knew, was the most minuscule drop of _sincerity._ He _did_ enjoy the glory from the television interview last month, he admitted in the dark – it fed something empty in him to bask in the attention with no commitment or expectations. He _had_ told a version of the truth to those new “classmates” of his at Syujin that he encountered at the taping – they were interesting, yes, but as a means to an end. And he _did_ reveal some information about himself to that same dark-haired boy in the glasses and his friends (which included Sae’s sister), but it was all for the purpose of the end game he had been working towards for the last two and a half years. They were self-serving, calculated risks – so precise that they could barely be called “risks” at all, he thought proudly to himself. The best way to lie, Akechi Goro had learned, was to lie to yourself – and that was best achieved through the tiniest grain of truth.

                Even Sae had been privy to his duplicitous treatment, he mused: until very recently, she knew only his brief wit, his meek dedication to his alleged work, and his polished opinion on a few carefully curated topics. Even now, after that _downright bizarre_ phone call back in June, he still had control over the situation. It was all a calculated risk – a fun, relaxing game. Just a _germ_ of honesty, that’s all…

                So why did this feel so _difficult?_

He unlocked his phone screen with a firm swipe of his left index finger and pressed the icon labelled “messages.” A quick press opened the “new message” option, followed by another press and quick drag down the screen to Niijima Sae’s contact information. Nimble, fast thumbs smudged the glass as the boy typed, deleted, and typed again; every phrase he crafted seemed insufficient upon a second glance. With a steady, measured exhale, he looked at the bright screen and double-checked his words, pushing back against the acid that tickled at his throat as he remembered the _last_ time he looked at his phone screen and saw her name. Even though this would have no sound, sending a message seemed a shade _worse_ , in his eyes. Participating in the call was an accident; pressing the send button, however, would be intentional.

                His eyes glanced over the time on the screen: just past 11 PM, nowhere near the time of their last (and first) phone interaction and just enough of a difference to quell some of his unease. Still, his legs moved impatiently under the sheets of his bed, toes curling and cracking with a potent energy he was hesitant to acknowledge.

                _She said you can message her,_ he thought. Underneath layers of blanket and consciousness, another thought floated upward: _She said you were cute._

                _Just push the button,_ he told himself. _It’s easier than pulling the trigger._

_She asked you not to leave._

Remembering that voice, he overcame the weakness that seized on him and pressed “send.”

                **[23:03] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Keeping my word to talk to you later._**

To the boy’s great ~~joy~~ surprise, he saw three dots appear underneath his message, coupled with a notification in small print: _Niijima Sae is typing…_

_Buzz._

**[23:04] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I was wondering if you would  
                _ [23:04] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I was looking forward to it_**

**[23:05] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Glad to make your night, then!_**

_Why did I just write that,_ he thought. _It looks stupid._

**[23:05] 81-3-xx55-0020: _lol  
                _ [23:05] 81-3-xx55-0020: _A welcome change – did you see the news tonight?_**

**[23:06] 81-3-57xx-0610: _No? What’d I miss?_**

**[23:08] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Vigilante hackers have called out the Phantom Thieves. With threats.  
                _ [23:08] 81-3-xx55-0020: _They have such a stupid name_**

He feigned ignorance in his reply.

                **[23:10] 81-3-57xx-0610: _It can’t be stupider than “Phantom Thieves”  
                _ [23:10] 81-3-57xx-0610: _What is it?_**

**[23:11] 81-3-xx55-0020: “ _Medjed”_**

He couldn’t place if what he was typing was another performance, another layer of the grafted mask, or something else before he hit send.  
**_  
_ [23:12] 81-3-57xx-0610: … _like the meme?_**

**[23:12] 81-3-xx55-0020: _What meme??_**

A paradox became apparent: her ignorance reminded him of the years between them, yes, but it made him feel good to be useful, even in a small way. A big smile found its way to the boy’s face, cracking the tension his face held, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Something about Sae being confused was…sweet. Cute, maybe.

           **[23:13] 81-3-57xx-0610: _The blanket guy!_**  
                **[23:13] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I know you’ve seen it_**  
                **[23:14] 81-3-57xx-0610: _The big eyes?_**

**[23:14] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Nope  
                _ [23:15] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Never heard of it…_**

**[23:16] 81-3-57xx-0610: _hold on, gonna find it_**

The detective quickly opened his browser, searched “medjed meme” in Google, and hastily downloaded the photo, sending it to Sae.

                **[23:18] 81-3-57xx-0610: _here_**

He could practically see her face from where he sat: eyes narrowed, mouth contorted and eventually flattening into a thin line. Sure enough, the dots signifying her response flickered on and off for a few minutes.

                **[23:20] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Youre telling me this threatening, ominous organization has named itself after some ghost with a sheet on its head?  
                _ [23:21] 81-3-xx55-0020: _It looks like a ghost from pac-man…_**

Feeling encouraged, he made a weak attempt at a joke.

                **[23:22] 81-3-57xx-0610: _the TRUE phantom thief  
                _ [23:22] 81-3-57xx-0610: _identity cleverly hidden beneath a bedsheet_**

**[23:23] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I just spat my drink on the screen brb  
                _ [23:25] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Will the police be able to crack this case? The citizens can only hope…_**

Goro’s cheeks hurt from smiling after he read that one. Since when was she so funny? Sae’s familiar cynicism was a great catalyst for dark humor, it seemed. Goro wheezed as he continued the play.

 **[23:26] 81-3-57xx-0610: _What will our trusted institution do?_**  
  
**[23:28] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Sting operation and inetrogration of all linen shop owners_**  
                **[23:28] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Can you imagine_**

**[23:29] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Wow_  
                [23:30] 81-3-57xx-0610: _You…are hilarious_**

                He paused after pressing send, looking again her last round of messages. _That’s a pretty glaring typo,_ he noted. Looking through her older texts, Goro noticed missed punctuation and a detail he had glossed over before: she mentioned she had a drink that she had just spat out. Auto-correct technology could only do so much…

                She was a little buzzed.

**[23:33] 81-3-xx55-0020: _it’s nice to laugh at it all sometimes_**

**[23:36] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Well, you’re making me laugh for what it’s worth  
                _ [23:37] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Even though we’re technically talking about work…_**

**[23:39] 81-3-xx55-0020: _you’re right_**  
                **[23:42] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Okay….it’s my turn to ask questions, right?_**  
                **[23:44] 81-3-xx55-0020: _What were you doing before you texted me_**

There was absolutely no way he was going to answer _that_ honestly. He drew another lie from a grain of truth:

 **[23:46] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Thinking about taking a shower or a bath before going to bed_**  
  
**[23:47] 81-3-xx55-0020: _You go to bed early_**  
                **[23:47] 81-3-xx55-0020: _That’s good_**

                Seeing her praise him like that made the truth beneath the lie even harder and more confusing to deal with. _Do not think about it,_ he instructed himself as he typed a reply.

**[23:49] 81-3-57xx-0610: _And what were you doing?_**

**[23:51] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Watching so-called “scary” movies…sometimes they’re funny,  but sometimes you actually get a good one_**

**[23:52] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Was it a good one?_**

**[23:54] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Could have been better. I can’t remember the name, but I turned it off after the guy got boiled to death. It looked so ridiculous._**  
                **[23:55] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I’d tell you the channel, but_ _I don’t remember it. Probably over now anyway._**  
                **[23:56] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I shouldn’t keep you awake, though. Get some sleep. You should have just gone to bed and talked to me tomorrow._**

 **[23:57] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I’ll go to bed soon._**  
                **[23:58] 81-3-57xx-0610: _You should too…_**  
                **[23:59] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Goodnight_**

**[00:00] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Talk to you later_**

****


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was, by far, the most difficult to complete of anything I have ever written. 
> 
> A general TW/CW for squick.

                Steam filled the space. Droplets lacquered drab square tiles laid uniform against walls. Fingers dragged along ivory porcelain and slipped through a thin layer of foam to water beneath. A stream trickled from a silvery metal curve into the spume. Swaths of skin – toes, a knee, abdomen – rose from the laurel-gray liquid.  All was warm.

                One exhale parted the haze. Inhalation – vapor clung to the throat, nostrils, lungs. Heat washed over parted thighs and along the hips. Soft sways of water mimicked the murmur of the sea.

                Another breath, then darkness.

                Heavy calm kept limbs slack, submerged. Palms, finger pads, and feet grazed the firm ceramic beneath all the water. A clean, creamy scent wafted upward from it. Froth and flimsy foam flowed to and from the body gently.

                Small sounds arose: digits tapping along plastic, a squelch, and wet fabric smacking together. The trickling stream stopped connecting to the still water; soft patters replaced the other sound.

                Dark eyes partially reopened to see a pale hand with a washcloth the same color as its skin. The fabric was soaking wet, dripping water and pearl-white soap from its folds.

                His eyes closed again when the cloth touched his shoulder. He could smell the soap more intensely as the fabric rubbed and smoothed along it. Another hand guided his arm from the water to rest along the porcelain edge, glazing the flesh in viscous heat. Suds streaked the white sheen as they slid across the ceramic surface to join the bubbles.

                 His head fell back and his chestnut brown hair pressed against the tile; he was contented, relaxed, and safe. The washcloth stroked at the delicate skin of the neck and followed the fluids that coated the youthful chest. He sighed at the sensation; the vibrations in his throat resonated through his body. His lips curved upward of their own volition.

                This was the first time he had been treated so tenderly.

                A husky, sumptuous voice spoke next to his ear, pleased: “Good boy.”

                Hotter steam rose from the bath to caress his face. It did not burn, but it roused his eyes open after they winced to gaze upon it all. He shivered when he felt that steady, confident hand continue washing downward to his stomach.

                He caught a glimpse of violet nail polish before the hand holding the cloth dipped between his legs, grasping at the stiffness found there with experienced, expedient fingers.

                _“Good boy.”_

                White-hot steam singed his face; the water simmered around him. His eyes slammed shut while his left hand covered his mouth to muffle a shaky moan.  Jolts of fire and pleasure pulsed through his body from her precise ministrations. His hips bucked upward into her slickly-covered hand, awe-struck; he barely noticed the water was boiling him alive. One last, tight pump, and his world went white –

                Akechi Goro awoke with a small scream. Looking around, he could see his almost dead cell phone to his left side and a moist stain at the front of his boxers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who stayed with this story after Chapter 8 - congratulations. You got through the weird part and can now resume more normal reading.
> 
> I'd also like to apologize for the severe delay in posting. When I started writing this piece, I was on a two week vacation from my job. When I returned to work, I found out there had been a major staffing shift and now had more responsibility than I did before. I had hoped to have this done by the evening of the 16th, but it simply was not possible. I hope that the content of this makes up for the tardiness.

                6:10 AM.

                Niijima Sae woke ahead of her alarm for the first time in months. She tended to sleep better after one beer, in her experience; it was just enough alcohol to coax her into turning off her brain and drifting into unconsciousness without resistance or unpleasant after-effects. She picked up the cell phone lying on the ledge near the window, swiping to unlock it before triumphantly entering the alarm settings to turn the _annoying bells_ off. Without even leaving the house, the lawyer knew today was going to be a better day than usual.

                She kept her phone in her hand as she stretched her arms upward, bending them at the elbows while she worked the minor kinks out of her back with a small back-and-forth motion. The long-haired woman shook her head for a moment to get the lingering vestiges of slumber out of her mind before wiping her eyes with her left hand. Finally invigorated and feeling alert, Sae looked at her phone. She had forgotten to put it on the charger for the night; it was down to only 43% by the time she had gotten up. After her hour-long text conversation with Akechi Goro, she knew she would need to recharge it, but it had slipped her mind when she decided to do a little more research after their conversation. The topic, of course, was “Medjed.”

                She had to admit: the image was hilarious, even completely sober. The fan art and jokes she found strewn around Twitter and Pixiv were somehow even _better;_ she saved a few of them that night to her phone. She needed – no, wanted _and_ needed – the lightheartedness in her life. Akechi’s absolute shock that she had never heard of it reminded her of a truth she had wanted to ignore: she hadn’t really been paying attention to much outside of work. The hours of her day had been thoroughly regimented to the point where she barely had time for anything besides work, family, and herself – and it was always her own needs last. Categorizing lightheartedness and laughter in her mind as a _need_ felt like a small act of immaturity; she fought against the guilt of it, savoring the rebellion like chocolate on her tongue.

                Her index finger moved to the “messages” app, reviewing the texts she still had saved. She had only two threads in her inbox: one from Makoto that hadn’t been touched in weeks, and the one from last evening with her colleague. She pressed on the most recent one, conveniently at the top, and reviewed it, finding herself smiling at the jokes about the general incompetence of the police. It was nice to know someone felt the same way as her – even if it was a comment made late at night with no one else to see.

                Finally, she rose from bed, bare feet and bare legs shivering at the momentary change in temperature. It was summer, certainly, but the sudden lack of blankets was still a shock given her attire: a loose, white cotton camisole, and silk, lavender panties. With sturdy strides she walked first to the USB cord plugged into the wall, connecting her phone to it to charge it – the sooner it was back to 100%, the better. As she let her hair down from the ties that kept it in place when she slept, she walked to the closet to grab her silvery bathrobe, stripping the two small garments from her frame with little ceremony into a pile before her feet. Similarly, she donned the robe – quickly and efficiently, without fuss – and walked through her apartment to the shower.

                A quick head-check into Makoto’s room was the last step: _gone again._ She knew she was spending time with a new friend – Takamaki Anne – but Sae was a thorough woman, even on her happier days when she could unwind. More so, in cases like these. It wasn’t that Makoto wouldn’t understand if she heard – she was sure that her little sister needed her time to herself too – but acknowledging that aspect to each other would be _uncomfortable._ It was better to remain a monolith.

                Niijima Sae finally entered the bathroom, carefully removed her robe to drape it on a hanger, and turned on the water with a steady hand before slipping past the white curtain into the steam. She always loved the comfort and relaxation the heat on her skin brought; without fail, it soothed her mentally and physically. She started with wetting her hair, standing face-forward towards the shower head to let the streams soak into the long locks, making them cling to her back, shoulders, and breasts. She savored the sensation of droplets sliding across her pale skin – the intense points of heat roused her to pleasant alertness, smoothing over the tense muscles in her shoulders, arms, stomach, thighs, and calves before finally washing away down the drain.

                The sequence of events was second nature to Sae; every morning, she followed the same rigid ritual. She reached for the off-white bottle of shampoo and squeezed out a moderate amount of pearlescent fluid, working it in her hands to a small, bubbly lather before running it through her hair with her fingers. She rubbed the pads of her digits into her scalp and downward to the ends of the strands, careful not to miss cleansing a single area before moving to stand directly under the water to rinse out the suds and foam. She moved then to the second bottle, directly next to the shampoo, and dispensed a more generous amount into her palms. This time, she started at the ends, slowly coating her hair in conditioner. Instead of immediately rinsing the fluid out, the woman opted to reach for the light purple loofah hanging on a peg attached to a shower caddy that clung to the smoke-gray tiles from suction cups.

                Careful not to rinse the conditioner out of her hair, Sae reached for the clear plastic bottle of deep red, pomegranate-infused body wash, opening it and squeezing the bottle to apply a generous amount of the soap to the apparatus in her hand. She relished the clean, fruity scent as she pressed the fabric to create a lather of small bubbles and foam, exhaling a sigh and small hum when the loofah finally made contact with the sensitive skin on her neck. Methodically, as if recalling from muscle memory more than conscious thought, the tall woman scrupulously worked over every bit of skin, filling the tub beneath her with suds that fell from her frame. With a quick turn of the handle, the water cooled just enough to use for a rinse; Sae let the water cascade down the crown of her head and the rest of her body, traces of conditioner and soap finally completely gone.

                As the last remnants of foam and skin swirled down the drain, the now-refreshed lawyer snuck a slippery hand back to the metal and turned the stream to a warmer temperature again. After replacing the purple ball she held in her hand, Sae let the water fall upon her chest, testing the heat and its comfort as she twisted the knob in increasingly minute movements, seeking the perfect temperature with precision. With one final, minuscule movement to the right, she found that sweet spot between “hot” and “boiling” that always seemed so elusive.

                Her eyes moved slowly to the metal-wrapped hose that kept the shower head in place, grateful her apartment had detachable ones. She took the shower head’s handle into her hand, using her free one to trace a violet nail along her neck, savoring the tingle it sent along her skin and her spine. The woman’s other hand pushed a settings switch on the shower head, changing the stream from a light, wide range to a harder, more concentrated bundle of fewer jets. She brought the source of wet heat to her still-sensitive neck, hissing through clenched teeth at the sensation and steam. _A little much_ , she thought, _but I need this._ How long had it been?

                Sae’s free left hand followed the flow of the hot water that trickled down her neck, palm and finger pads grazing slowly past her clavicle and settling eventually on her left breast, pinching at the fat twice: first to gauge her sensitivity, and a second time in the same place to experience a small burst of pain. The skin there was always a weak point for her; she loved the way bruises would throb for days after they were bitten or sucked into the flesh. She assumed she’d eventually outgrow the juvenile inclination, she thought as she eventually cupped at herself with a fuller squeeze, but the right kind of pain always made her slick between the legs.

 _The right kind of pain_ , she contemplated as her eyes shut and her head fell back ever so slightly, _that was hard to find._ Her mind worked slowly, dredging up memories of the hands of past lovers to imagine instead of her own; to her embarrassment, she struggled to recall the senses of the encounters over the disappointments in them. The most recent liaison was unrepentantly arrogant; his cockiness was attractive to a point, but only until they actually became intimate. His hands were dry and cracked; he didn’t seem to care that he was going to touch a woman from that alone. It was how he used those hands, however, that repelled Sae during their encounter; he dug blunt nails and dry, ragged skin across her breasts, not even bothering to cup or play with them. For a moment, it had been almost _refreshing_ to have someone not go for them immediately, but the way he scraped across her skin with such _unearned confidence_ was utterly dissatisfying. She was glad to know he was only visiting the city for a work trip – she never had to see him again.

                Sae brought the shower head to her lower abdomen –a sensitive spot – and let it tickle at her skin before moving the stronger water pulses to her right hip, letting the warmth play over the tender skin near her back. A firm grip to her hips was always welcome, she recalled with a small moan. She let her thumb graze over her erect nipple before she moved her left hand to grasp at her left hip, pressing her thumb firmly into the slightly-jutting bone as her other fingers brushed delicately at her backside. Having her hips grabbed was an incredible turn on – when done right.

                She recalled the man she followed a hotel room before the last one: a fellow lawyer celebrating a recent victory, making dark eyes at every woman in the bar. She remembered his pitch-black glare boring holes into her predatorily. Still, he sat down next to her and plied her with attention, drink, and compliments about how she would be “a lovely person to get to know better,” said in a tone dripping with ulterior motive. As they went to his hotel suite, he _did_ attempt conversation – all about his work, his “dedication,” and his _salary._ She could see where it was going, but if she got a decent lay out of it, she figured it was worth it.

                His technique, however, was almost as self-absorbed as his conversation: he pushed into her animalistically, taking her from behind, while at the same time _delicately_ holding her hips. It was obvious he had no idea what he was doing; his technique was pulled more from message boards on the Internet than actually _listening_ to her reactions _._ Sure enough, he came quickly – more proof their liaison had nothing to do with any real interest in her. She could accept inexperience, certainly – but a lack of investment in making it a good fuck for both people? That was unforgivable. She left immediately afterwards, quickly putting her clothes on and not even looking back at the pathetic jerk. She somehow doubted he cared, though.

                Even so, the memories of actual physical contact managed to make her eager. Her hands finally moved between her legs, smoothing at her inner thighs before kneading into the sensitive skin with soft, practiced digits. She exhaled with anticipation, hot tension knotting up firmly between her legs as her mind raced, trying desperately to recall the last time another person’s hands touched her there. The memory was faint – five years old, easily – but Sae managed to remember the shivering, anxious fingers of the man who knelt before her wide-spread legs. His patience was incredible – he brushed from just above the knee to the top of her thigh with delicate strokes, causing her to giggle and making her breath hitch. He palmed at the delicate flesh between her legs, gripping with just the right amount of pressure – she could remember she was utterly _soaked_ by the time he finally stopped and fingered at her folds. He was a dreamy, idealistic musician – of course, he was good with his hands –

                Her toes curled and cracked at the memory while her fingers tried their best to imitate his skill as she pushed back the rest of the memory.

                Bits and pieces of it came back, despite her best attempts not to sour her joy: as he pushed a finger inside of her, he came to the realization that perhaps his partner who was well into her adulthood years was “too excited,” and quickly withdrew his digit in disgust, asking how many men had “tried” her before. Clearly, he was a little _too_ idealistic about his “muses” – but not so idealistic as to turn down a hookup. Sae managed to laugh at the man instead for once; she was over it.  She wasn’t a fan of his scruff anyway.

                As the warmth in her mound became almost unbearable, Sae thought about the men she had known in the past: she adored earnest, masculine confidence, but despised toxic arrogance; she liked men who knew the importance of being competent, but hated ones who bragged without merit; most of all, she loved the giving, generous spirit she saw in men, but was repelled by the idolatry. She _knew_ men with those qualities that existed – she simply hadn’t known one yet.

                The long-haired woman finally brought the shower head between her legs, letting the pulsing streams of warm water press against her sensitive clit. Her legs shivered at the sensation as she felt herself give a high-pitched, almost squeaky sigh as her free hand massaged and played at the backs of her thighs, sending additional tickles and jolts of pleasure up her spine. As that same hand moved back to her neck, her other hand moved slightly lower, brushing a spot just the way she liked it, causing heat and pleasure to bloom through her. The muscles in her legs and abdomen tensed, but her mind felt free to imagine an encounter not tainted by jaded bitterness.

                Sae envisioned hands – smooth, steady, but unpracticed – brushing against the small of her back as warm lips delicately pressed against her own. Kissing was something she knew better than to ask for in old hook-ups – it wasn’t what they were there for, and it smacked of intimacy and kindness unsuitable for those encounters. Still, Sae relished the thought of someone’s mouth on hers, imprecise but passionate – genuine _._ She could practically hear the small smacks of kisses planted along her jawline to her neck as her fingers imitated the direction, pressing softly into the delicate skin.

                She imagined those same earnest hands moving forward from her back to cup her breasts, slightly calloused thumbs brushing along the sensitive flesh before giving them a subtle squeeze. Coupled with the sudden pressure was the feeling of a tongue licking a hot, wet stripe between them before nipping softly at one breast with a flash of teeth. Sae shut her legs and moved her hips at the thought, attempting to get some friction to add to the pressure. She imagined her own hand was her false paramour’s, clamping it to one hip and gradually increasing the pressure, rubbing the bone there with her thumb.

                In her mind, she was on her back in a warm, soft bed, looking upwards to a face that seemed a little nervous. The way his features looked – dark, focused eyes, taking in every detail of her in awe – made her feel confident and comfortable. Her cheeks flooded with warmth when the unknown man whispered in her ear; something about the honest way he spoke and the almost innocent hand that caressed her thigh as they moved together sent a thrill through her. His arms were lean but strong, easily lifting her legs to wrap around his hips. He carded a hand through her hair, eyes closing as he appreciated the feeling of it all.

                Sae bit her lip and exhaled a shaky breath. Her hand moved between her legs, fingers tracing the folds wet with a mix of water and her own fluids. She bent at the waist ever so slightly, feeling wonderfully lightheaded and needy.

                The man in her imagination rubbed the head of his cock just above her entrance before dipping it downwards and pushing – ever so slowly, almost _lovingly_ – into her. At the same time, the real Sae _moaned_ , missing the sensation of being filled as she was in her mind. The lover in her fantasy stilled when he buried himself in her completely, both of them sighing in relief at the sensation. Before she could catch her breath, he shifted, pressing his pelvis against the skin around her clit and moving his hips slowly to stimulate her without pulling out. She whined with pleasure, back arching as she found herself getting closer and closer with each sway.

                The real Sae let out a choked grunt as she felt herself approach climax.

                When the lover in her mind finally withdrew to push back into her, she could practically hear the squelching of her slicked walls tightening against him. It took so little, and yet, he continued steadily, as if trying to control himself for her sake.

                The woman in the shower abruptly _screamed,_ the intensity of it muffled by the sound of water and the feeling of steam in her mouth. Her eyes shut tight as she dropped the shower head, gasping between the throbbing contractions that shook her body. She found the strength to turn off the water a few moments later, not even bothering to put the apparatus back in its proper place.

                It was definitely a better day than usual for Niijima Sae. Once she found her footing and her legs felt steady, she dried herself off and continued her normal morning rituals before going to work.

 

*             *             *

                The bravado in her office seemed miles away that morning. She worked almost _happily,_ quickly formulating new arguments and improving old ones with precise language and shrewd applications of past cases that seemed incredibly obvious and lucid to her refreshed mind. A tinge of disappointment pricked at her when she realized it was time for lunch – she was on a roll, and it felt fantastic. Still, the woman knew there were plenty of reasons to set it aside for a moment: the company she’d share when she entered that small, familiar space. She had more questions for him, and she couldn’t wait to see how he’d pause to think of good inquires.

                For the first time in nearly a month, Akechi Goro didn’t join her for lunch. He never missed work, and none of the messages from the night before indicated any reason for a change. Something about her good day suddenly felt incredibly _wrong_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had wanted to put this into what became Chapter 9, but again, I am notoriously impatient...

                _Buzz._

                **[12:07] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Are you here today?_**

                Akechi Goro sat at his desk with a small container of cooking resting next to white papers with photographs clipped to them. He chewed slowly, delay intentional, and kept his eyes fixated on the colors and characters on the surface in front of him. The smacking of his lips and the determined, steady bites he took drowned out the sound of his phone – or so he wished.

                _Buzz._

**[12:08] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I’m wondering since you’re usually here for lunch…_**

                The phone was perched on a shelf just out of his reach and line of vision, covered with a handkerchief to muffle any vibrations. He closed his eyes, swallowed his food and took another bite, recalling the mantra that had kept him steady for the first half of the day: _It was only a dream; it doesn’t mean anything. It was only a dream; it doesn’t mean anything. It was only a dream; it doesn’t—_

_Buzz._

**[12:13] 81-3-xx55-0020: _at least tell me you’re okay_**

                He knew he was being contradictory; if he truly didn’t want to speak to her, he could have turned his phone to silent or even powered it off. He winced when the vibrations of the incoming message pierced his feeble attempts to control the situation, heart pounding with an anxiety that seeped to his stomach. He was well aware that he had some outré dispositions, given his _real_ job, but nothing about those inclinations could ever explain or justify the images his mind had conjured or the way he felt experiencing them.

A lump of confusion, fear, and yearning knotted itself into his throat, threatening to choke him if he did not act.  He needed control of the situation and his own feelings – it’s why he distanced himself from her in the first place. Even so, the young detective craved her presence; the gentle, rare warmth she shared with him had become so welcome and familiar that he was sure some of his fear was from losing it. With a dull thud, Akechi Goro emptied his hand and rose from his seat to walk to the shelf to grab the noisy device. After unwrapping the phone from his (admittedly) pathetic attempt to muffle it, the detective turned on the screen to see a notification of “3 New Messages” from Niijima Sae.

Was she worried? Did she miss him? Was his presence as comforting and welcome to her as hers was to him? Too many questions filled his mind unwillingly – the ~~hope~~ possibility that those statements were true slowly relaxed the knot from his throat. He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled from his mouth. He recited the last part of his mantra – “it doesn’t mean anything” – under his breath, pushing back the images from last night and the sounds he heard on the phone in the wee hours of the morning back in June.

**[12:17] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I’m okay!_**  
**[12:17] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Sorry, my phone was charging and I didn’t see the messages…_**

Spinning lies from the truth always served him well, he thought.

**[12:20] 81-3-xx55-0020: _You had me worried there_**

_Worried?_ She was actually worried about him? Seeing that acknowledgment in irrefutable, brightly-lit print soothed something dark and raw in the brown-haired boy; fighting that pain earlier had suddenly become worthwhile in an instant. A feeling resembling joy and pleasure coursed through his veins as his fingers worked faster as he typed a response.

 **[12:18] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I’ve been on a roll this morning so I just took my lunch with me._**  
  
**[12:19] 81-3-xx55-0020: _don’t do that_**  
**[12:20] 81-3-xx55-0020: _let your breaks be breaks and your work be work_**

**[12:21] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I had momentum going…_**

**[12:23] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I did too, but I still took my break._**  
**[12:24] 81-3-xx55-0020: _You’ll miss them once you stop taking them and realize you need them._**

The last message struck Goro as peculiar. He knew Sae as a fastidious perfectionist and workaholic – he admired that kind of dedication, albeit quietly, and thought it was something they actually shared in common. He brought his index finger to his mouth and paused to think as another message came in.

**[12:25] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Piece of advice from one professional to another. Don’t burn yourself out like that._**

The third message sealed it. Their mutually agreed-upon rule when they talked together was that they couldn’t – _didn’t_ – discuss work. Anything else within reason was a valid topic, so long as it wasn’t serious discussion about the moribund, _stressful_ tasks they both undertook. Sae sending a message pertaining to careers on her lunch break to him was an obvious violation; it did, however, give him an opening.

**[12:26] 81-3-57xx-0610: _You’re breaking the rule and talking about work_**  
**[12:26] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Are YOU okay?_**

Goro saw the “Niijima Sae is typing” notification appear, then disappear for a few seconds, only to return and fade once more. She was seriously contemplating how to respond to his inquiry, it seemed. He briefly wondered if maybe his hunch was right – that maybe it _was_ his absence that bothered her so greatly. Cautiously, the detective typed a carefully-crafted message once he noticed Sae was still not typing to him.

**[12:28] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Should I swing by the break room?_**

It was bold and a bit arrogant of him, but he wanted –

_Buzz._

**[12:29] 81-3-xx55-0020: _My break’s over in a minute. Can we talk tonight?_**  
                 
                Goro’s mouth almost fell open. Sae _did_ want him around, didn’t she? The realization that _he was right_ washed the confusion and pain out of his system; a smile secretly found its way to his face, and the nervousness that had seized him all day melted away. _Someone wanted him around. He was important to someone._ No, better than that:  _Sae wanted him around._

**[12:29] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Of course_**  
**[12:30] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Returning the favor’s the least I can do_**

**[12:30] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Thanks_**

Akechi Goro closed his phone, suddenly chastising himself that he had worked through his lunch, even if it was ultimately worthless papers about Medjed's machinations. The sly so-called “detective” now had to wait through a slower-dragging day to get to talk to his friend again. Sae definitely proved her point about learning to cherish his breaks.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I'd like to apologize for my extended delay of absence. Myriad causes have contributed to this: another promotion (which has brought new stresses and demands of my time), treatment for medical issues (that have led to low energy and exhaustion), and my first piece of "anti hate." While I have no delusion that people cannot discern my "real online identity" (this username is a psuedonym I don't use for anything other than fanfic), I must say that it was deeply disturbing to receive messages to my personal account accusing me of supporting violent crimes against children for writing this work. As promised, my response to those messages is (as it should be for others, in my view) to continue writing this. I thank you for your support, and hope to resume regular updates soon.

A tremor rattled Akechi Goro’s hand as he hurriedly worked to slide his phone into his pocket. There was no reason to keep it out of arm’s reach anymore, he acknowledged – he had already broken his vow to abstain from the kindling that lit a fire in his stomach and heated his cheeks. He exhaled a deep breath, as if to ventilate his body; the warmth was unfamiliar, despite how good it felt. Discomfort had melted away to mere unfamiliarity, and fear had burned away to anticipation.

In his line of work – and his _false_ work – a certain level of cold, _cool_ objectivity was required to be successful. Over the last two years, Akechi Goro had mastered the art of weaponizing rage, untethering it from its anchored source and wielding it with icy, surgical precision at any target his employer demanded. Distractions like second thoughts and sentiments were only detriments – his end goal mandated that he take his hesitation and heart and stuff them away, like old toys in a box in a closet. Slowly, that cold had spread to his warmer affectations and demeanor, making him a cool, aloof public idol – a perfect wax figure for admiration, observation, and use.

It was no wonder then that this flame was dangerous. After years of dealing with the deadly, however, the boy was certain – despite its strangeness – that he could control it like anything else.

The only thing he could not control was the way the hands of the clock dredged and dragged. Impatience simmered in his veins, and with a jolt and snap, he turned his neck and forced himself to stare at the pile of ~~worthless stupid meaningless fraudulent wasted~~ important papers on his desk. Medjed needed to be researched and investigated – that was the role of the Ace Detective.

_Let your breaks be breaks and your work be work,_ after all. It was that advice – and its gracious donor – that managed to keep him focused on his fabrications for over four hours.

*       *       *

Akechi Goro had barely closed his apartment door as one free hand tapped at the glass on his screen while he kicked off his shoes and undid his tie and belt, eager to make a bee-line to his bed. 

**[17:11] 81-3-57xx-0610:** _**So what’s up? Are you okay?  
** _ **[17:11] 81-3-57xx-0610:** _**I’m sorry to have frightened you earlier. I’m here now.** _

_The sound of an incoming message against his sheets was familiar and welcome:_ _Buzz._

**[17:12] 81-3-xx55-0020:** _**Oh good!  
** _ **[17:12] 81-3-xx55-0020:** _**Do you have time to talk?** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this is short. "Slow burn" fics are the hardest for me to write (I get an image in my head and I want to get there as soon as possible), and I like being able to publish as soon as I can so I can say that I've completed something.


	12. Chapter 12

Neatly-aligned and polished heels sat in a precisely-organized closet. A fitted black blazer clung tightly along its seams to a white plastic hanger, indistinguishable from the dozens of dark fabric similarly sorted there. Indeed, Niijima Sae’s working wardrobe was a uniform, of sorts – one that reminded her of the seriousness of her gambles and obscured any _immature_ individuality.  The only rebellion she allowed – the only indulgence she had _earned_ – was the purple varnish on her nails. It was those nails that tapped against the glass of the prosecutor’s cellphone to allow another rebellion: freedom from expectations.

Niijima Sae lay haphazardly across her freshly-made bed, creasing the cream-colored sheets with lean, bare limbs. She rested on her stomach, looking at her phone with the same sense of relief she felt as she kicked to stretch her legs and cracked her toes. Even after years of wearing constricting heels, the feeling of relief that came from removing them was still wondrous. Her high-necked black shirt, dark slacks, and bra had been tossed into a hamper; only a gray camisole and lavender underwear still adorned her, giving her some reprieve from the August heat. Makoto was meeting friends for coffee and curry at LeBlanc, so the comfort of having no pretense came earlier than it normally would have. Sae intended to relish the freedom and simplicity for as long as she could. With a quick pass of her hand through her glossy hair, Sae removed the clips from her hair and placed them at her side as she read a new message from Akechi Goro.

**[17:14] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Of course._**

There was something _comforting_ in his response. In the last few weeks, her coworker and partner had proven to be a reliable young man in a way his dedication to work never _truly_ showed. In their usual professional interactions, Akechi had been singularly focused on solutions; in their recent personal ones, Goro was open and even _fun_ to talk to. Their games at lunch and texts at night were blessed breaths of fresh air – something a woman who drowned herself in work cherished. Sae knew somehow that he needed to breathe, too.

**[17:15] 81-3-xx55-0020: _glad to hear you’re okay_**  
 **[17:16] 81-3-xx55-0020: _it’s weird not seeing you at lunch now_**  
 **[17:16] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Are we playing the question game again?_**  
 **[17:18] 81-3-xx55-0020: _if you want_**  
 **[17:18] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I’m ready._**  
 **[17:19] 81-3-xx55-0020: _what did you have for lunch?_**  
  
His response took longer than Sae expected.

**[17:22] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Meatballs and spinach_ **   
**[17:22] 81-3-57xx-0610: _You?_**   
**[17:23] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Sushi_**   
**[17:23] 81-3-57xx-0610: _You can’t just say sushi_**

Something about the stubbornness – the petulance – of Goro’s answer made her laugh.

_Buzz._

**[17:24] 81-3-57xx-0610: _You told me you like otoro_**

_He remembered._

**[17:24] 81-3-57xx-0610: _What kind was it?_**  
 **[17:26] 81-3-xx55-0020: _radish_**  
 **[17:27] 81-3-xx55-0020: _not the best choice I’ve made_**  
 **[17:28] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Did you get it from a convenience store or something?_**  
 **[17:28] 81-3-xx55-0020: _no, but I wanted to try something different_ **  
**[17:29] 81-3-xx55-0020: _routine gets boring sometimes_ **  
**[17:30] 81-3-57xx-0610: _It can definitely get under your skin_ **  
**[17:31] 81-3-xx55-0020: _kickboxing helps in more ways than one_ **  
**[17:32] 81-3-57xx-0610: _You kickbox?_**  
 **[17:33] 81-3-xx55-0020: _lol, is that your question?_**  
 **[17:34] 81-3-57xx-0610: _No. I’ll think of a better one…_**  


_Akechi Goro is typing_ flashed across the screen. Sae contorted herself, shifting around in bed until she was resting her back against the headboard, wrapped up in billowing fabric. She bit her lip and rolled her neck, grunting with the cracking sounds. Frustration and tension had soaked into her bones, it seemed –

_Buzz._

**[17:36] 81-3-57xx-0610: _What are your plans for today?_**   
**[17:37] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Not working more, I’d gather…_**

Niijima Sae stared at the screen blankly, flummoxed by the simple question. Her life had become so regimented and regulated that an entire afternoon and evening with no obligations was impossible to conceive of. But today had already been anomalous from the start of the day onward; it was time to be open to possibility and a greater taste of freedom.

**[17:40] 81-3-xx55-0020: _No idea_**   
**[17:41] 81-3-xx55-0020: _have you ever been so caught up in everything that stillness feels frightening?_**

*          *          *

**[17:43] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Maybe you should go to bed_**  
  
Akechi Goro understood _exactly_ what the fear of stillness felt like. It was a creeping, subtle dread that wrapped thin, venomous tendrils around the heart and weighed in the stomach like a dense stone. Racing thoughts suddenly silenced caused disorientation – where was the forgotten obligation, the urgent deadline, the judging figure with expectations? For him, rest was impossible because of it; sleeping on that thin ice of anxiety put him too close to drowning. Sae, however, at least _deserved_ a break.

**[17:44] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I’m already there and I’m not tired_**

Goro banished that instant image from his mind and fixated on writing something – anything.

**[17:47] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Let me guess…_**   
**[17:48] 81-3-57xx-0610: _And the idea of going out is terrible?_**   
**[17:49] 81-3-xx55-0020: _exactly_**   
**[17:49] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Makoto isn’t home_**   
**[17:50] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Too much freedom, hah_**   
**[17:51] 81-3-xx55-0020: _a dangerous thing_**

Goro lay in bed on his back, stripped down to his slate gray underpants, staring at the messages he held above his face. _Too much freedom,_ he reread. _Ironic._ Throwing his too formal clothing to the floor was the extent of his own liberty in his apartment; the emptiness was a cage he found himself hating when he had nothing else to work on. He could understand –

**[17:52] 81-3-57xx-0610: _That means you can do anything._**  
 **[17:54] 81-3-xx55-0020: _what do you do when you have this kind of down time?_**  
 **[17:55] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Don’t laugh_**  
 **[17:56] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I promise_**  
  
He told a form of the truth: a memory.  
  
**[17:58] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Read comics, play video games, order food_**  
 **[18:00] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I haven’t done that in YEARS_**  
 **[18:01] 81-3-57xx-0610: _which part?_**  
 **[18:02] 81-3-xx55-0020: _any of it_**  
 **[18:03] 81-3-57xx-0610: _You always surprise me_**  
 **[18:04] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Likewise_**  
 **[18:05] 81-3-57xx-0610: _What’s your favorite comic?_**

_Niijima Sae is typing…_

Over the course of three hours, Akechi Goro discovered more about the enigmatic woman who had unwittingly revealed herself to him months earlier: she snuck manga between her textbooks in school, quietly excelled at gambling and fighting games at arcades, and that during her university years, _Featherman_ was a chimerical amusement that gave her respite from the stress.

**[21:15] 81-3-xx55-0020: _The archery shots aren’t stock anymore?_**  
 **[21:17] 81-3-57xx-0610: _no_**  
 **[21:17] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Pink Argus does all the arrow work herself_**  
 **[21:19] 81-3-xx55-0020: _That’s incredible_**  
 **[21:20] 81-3-57xx-0610: _The special effects have gotten so much better over the years too_**  
 **[21:21] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I think I have the first season on tape somewhere here…_**  
 **[21:22] 81-3-xx55-0020: _it’s probably online somewhere too_**  
 **[21:24] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I have a link_**  
  
Goro caught his reflection in the glass of the screen as he sent the address. His eyes were bright with satisfaction and simple joy – warm. Being helpful – being wanted – was wonderful. He was used to giving and serving, certainly, but for once, it seemed appreciated.  
  
**[21:25] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Thank you!_**  
 **[21:27] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Are you going to watch them tonight?_**  
 **[21:29] 81-3-xx55-0020: _We both need to sleep. Makoto came home a little while ago too_**  
 **[21:30] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Tell me what you think when you get to the new episodes_**  
 **[21:30] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Promise you won’t laugh?_**  
 **[21:31] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I promise_**  
 **[21:32] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I’m good at keeping secrets, don’t worry_**  
 **[21:33] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I’ll hold you to that_**

The boy barely noticed how much time had elapsed until Sae mentioned it – how did they spend so much time talking, and why did it still feel insufficient? Though his eyes were heavy, Goro managed a quick “good night” message before finally succumbing to the need for rest.

**[21:35] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Talk to you soon_**   
**[21:35] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Sleep well_**

*          *          *

That promised “soon” became another ritual of their peculiar bond.  Just as the two found comfort and refuge in the break room of their shared workspace, they found quiet freedom in messages sent through the virtual, liminal space of cell phone screens. In what sparse moments they had between work, Niijima Sae and Akechi Goro had managed to discuss their mutual indulgence over the span of a few weeks with no judgment and no shame.

Near the end of the month, Akechi Goro received a first from Niijima Sae: _a media message._ A quick thumb pressed the glass, curious and excited. The photo attached brought a sincere, amused _laugh_ as he looked at it – loud enough to be _rude_ for where he was.

**[17:40] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Finally found them_**

It was a photo of a cardboard box full of decade-old manga and VHS cassettes, presented proudly to the camera by a hand with purple nail polish.   
  
**[17:42] 81-3-57xx-0610: _You actually still have them?_**  
 **[17:43] 81-3-xx55-0020: _I wouldn’t lie about this, lol_**  
 **[17:44] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Shame the country’s going to collapse before you can enjoy them_**  
 **[17:45] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Right – the so-called “cleanse”_**  
 **[17:45] 81-3-xx55-0020: _“Medjed” is coming to wipe everything with its blanket_**  
 **[17:46] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Any plans before the anarchy begins?_**  
 **[17:47] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I’m having my “last meal” at a restaurant in Ginza_**  
 **[17:47] 81-3-57xx-0610: _I may as well enjoy the tuna while I can_**  
 **[17:48] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Not crowded, I assume_**  
 **[17:49] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Just me and the staff_**  


That fire he had grown to know urged him to send one more message.  
  
**[17:51] 81-3-57xx-0610: _Care to join me?_**  
  
_Buzz._

**[17:53] 81-3-xx55-0020: _Sure_**


End file.
